What the Silence Keeps

The goldfish bowl sat on her nightstand, its single orange inhabitant swimming in endless circles.

"You're still feeding that thing?" Elena's voice carried from the bathroom, muffled by the towel she was using to dry her hair.

"It was his fish, El." Marcus kept his back to her, buttoning his shirt with careful fingers. "Paul gave it to me on our first anniversary."

"Three years ago." She appeared in the doorway, robe tied loosely. "Goldfish have what, five-second memories? Maybe it's time you let that go too."

Marcus turned to face her. Elena was twenty-nine to his thirty-two, all sharp angles and calculated moves—she'd been the fox at the garden party where they'd met, weaving through conversations with predatory grace, leaving everyone charmed and slightly diminished. He'd fallen for it, for her, in the span of one evening.

"That's a myth," he said. "Their memories are months long. They recognize people."

"Everything's a myth until you want it to be true." She moved to the window, looking out at the city. "You're seeing that researcher again today, aren't you? The one with the riddles?"

"Claire studies antiquities. She's translating an inscription on a sphinx statue they found outside Cairo."

"Marcus—"

"Don't. I see how you look at her. Like she's some mystery you're dying to solve." She turned back to him. "What riddles does she ask you, Marcus? What secrets does the sphinx keep?"

The goldfish swam to the surface, mouth opening and closing in silent repetition.

"That's not fair."

"Fair?" Elena laughed softly. "You've been carrying a torch for your dead husband's fish, recoding your grief into something small and contained. Now you're looking for a new sphinx to interrogate. Some new mystery."

She crossed the room, placed her hands on his chest. "I'm not a riddle, Marcus. I'm not dead and I'm not a puzzle. I'm right here, and I'm boring enough to love you back. But that's not what you want, is it?"

The fish cast a distorted orange reflection on the glass.

"I think," Marcus said carefully, "that you're the only one who's ever called herself boring and meant it as a threat."

Elena's smile was sharp as she pulled away. "The sphinx ate everyone who couldn't answer. Choose your riddles carefully, Marcus."

She left the room. The goldfish continued its endless circuits, mouth opening, closing, opening—waiting for food that would never come, or perhaps something else entirely.